


Exteriors

by LostGirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-03
Updated: 2004-11-03
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6528448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostGirl/pseuds/LostGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles' Citreon strands him and Wesley on the side of the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exteriors

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Exteriors  
> Author: Lostgirl  
> Pairing: Giles/Wesley  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Spoilers: set between S3 and S4  
> Disclaimer: I don't own them. Blah, blah, Joss Whedon blah, blah, corporate entities, yaddah, yaddah.
> 
> For [](http://bethynyc.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://bethynyc.livejournal.com/)**bethynyc** , who wanted magic and marshmallows.

"I don't think that's how you start a fire," Wesley said, yet again. Giles glanced up at him, sighing.

"I have been camping more times than I can count and, indeed, this is how I have always started the fire." Turning his eyes back to the damn too-damp wood, Giles tried again, frustration building with each of Wesley's sighs or the exaggerated chattering of his teeth. "Do you want to do this?"

Wesley raised an eyebrow at him, as if his moment of annoyance was completely unexpected. "Well, uh, I-I could try."

"Right," Giles sighed, throwing him the matches that refused to catch the wood, soaked in dew as it was.

After three tries, Wesley finally gave in, admitting that it was useless.

"We're going to die out here," he grumbled, drawing another glare from Giles. The Citroen had finally given out. Giles had known it was only a matter of time, of course, but he curse it for leaving him stranded, in the middle of nowhere, with Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.

_Blasted car._

Why he'd agreed to take Wesley anywhere was beyond him. He supposed he felt sorry for the man. Being knocked out and all but trampled during a fight was hardly confidence inspiring and the man's stay in the hospital couldn't have been easy. Especially considering that Giles was the only one to visit him.

The Council had called, of course . . . to sack him.

"You're being melodramatic," Giles sighed, glancing toward the road. There hadn't been another car in over two hours, but the road was fairly well taken care of, someone had to use it.

His poor Citroen sat not too far away, the woods, however, were also rather nearby, as he and Wesley were on the swath of grass between road and wilderness. Giles had thought it would be safer to building a fire and wait out the night with the car nearby should there by need to retreat inside. The both of them could hardly sleep in the car. Not without getting far closer than Wesley would surely like. Giles could almost imagine the man's shocked expression, should he suggest it.

"I am not. That bloody road is dead, who knows what kind of demons roam through this area, so close to the blasted Hellmouth. Walking, we'd never reach a phone before morning. We're going to be eaten." Wesley's tone was rather bland. Giles snorted, shaking his head.

"You don't seem afraid of the idea," he grumbled, glancing once again at the car. Wesley was right that many demons and vampires made their way through this are en route to Sunnydale. They should be in the car. At least then their scents would not be so apparent, they'd have protection, if only a little. He had weapons, but a fire would have been better. Vampires, and many demons, would avoid them if they had a fire.

"Yes, well, it's hardly a surprise for me to end this way. Though, it must come as a bit of a shock to you." Wesley sighed, holding the edges of this coat tighter about him, his eyes scanning the woods.

"Neither of us is going to be eaten," Giles snapped, standing. "I have enough weapons in the boot to arm a small rebellion, er, which they did."

"Then you should be quite safe." Wesley chuckled bitterly. "I, on the other hand, will scream, fall on my arse, and be eaten."

"Lord, man, have you no pride at all?" Giles growled, pulling two swords and two crossbows from the boot and closing it with a slam.

"Not anymore," he heard Wesley whisper, the words, the broken sound of the man's voice; both brought that sympathy . . . or perhaps empathy, welling up inside of him again.

Sighing, Giles handed the man one of each of the weapons and sat himself down on his jacket. "Are you hungry?"

"What?" Wesley's eyes snapped to him and he seemed quite surprised by the change in topic.

"I asked if you were hungry."

"Uh, y-yes, if we have anything." Wesley glanced at the non-existent fire again, sighing.

"I have some marshmallows in the car. You're welcome to them."

"Marshmallows?" Wesley gave him curious glance.

"Is there something wrong with marshmallows?"

"Uh, no. I . . . why do you have them in your car?"

"We were using them for bait. Mepheirar Demons running around the library."

"Ah. Pesky little things, I've heard. They like marshmallows?"

"Well, they seemed to like them well enough. Certainly lured the little buggers into the traps."

"Traps?"

"They're harmless," Giles shrugged. "No reason to kill them. We just set them loose on the beach."

"I see. Uh, where-where exactly are the marshmallows?"

"Glove box," Giles said with an absent wave to the car. He waited until Wesley turned away, fetching the matches from where the man had been sitting. Pulling one out he glanced to make sure Wesley attention was elsewhere and then looked back toward the fire. Clearing his mind, he forced the trembling in his hands to still as he whispered the spell under his breath.

Magical fire was tougher than normal fire; called and partially fueled by the caster's will. It still took a moment to catch the wood, but Giles sighed in relief when it did. Wesley turned around, a smile on his face for the first time that day as he saw the fire.

"And, if you think I'm going to believe you did that with a match," Wesley muttered, clutching the marshmallows as he slid down across the tiny fire from Giles, "you take me for more of a fool than I actually am."

Giles lifted an eyebrow and snorted, a small, tight smile pushing at his lips. "Fine. Just, uh, don't ever tell Willow. She's already--"

"I know, I know," Wesley said, holding up a hand. "Your secret's safe here. I don't ever plan on talking to any of them again anyway." Wesley looked down to the marshmallows and Giles had no idea what to say to the hurt on the other man's face.

"Well, now we can toast the marshmallows," he finally said, picking up two of the longer, thinner pieces of wood that they'd gathered.

"Eat off of sticks that have been laying around on the ground?" Wesley blinked at him and Giles had to laugh at that.

"No. Spear marshmallows on sticks that will be going directly into a fire and will, thereby, be rather sterilized. Besides, it's been done for ages and there are no 'toasted marshmallow related fatalities' that I know of."

Wesley snorted, nodding. "Fine. You're right." There was another glimpse of the man's smile, a tad shy, a tad self-deprecating, but . . . rather charming to Giles', surprised, mind.

"So? Where are you planning to go?" Giles head out a stick to Wesley, reaching into the bag when the man held it out to him and retrieving a few marshmallows.

"Well, uh, I-I don't know yet."

"Not home?"

"Not unless someone puts me in chains and drags me there." Wesley's voice was firm, perhaps angry, but with none of the bitter undertones that dwelt there when he spoke of Sunnydale.

"Well, you do know that you don't have to leave the Hellmouth, don't you?" Giles tilted his head, considering the younger man. His words were more a probe, poking, exploring, and trying to understand. He had to admit, to himself at least, that Wesley's behavior intrigued him.

"No, I don't have to. Instead," Wesley stared at his marshmallows as he spoke, watching them burn with an intensity on his face that was vaguely worrying. "I could stay. Look for a new job in a small town and . . . what? Hope you and the children decide to let me act as bait now and again? I hardly think so. Perhaps I was wrong; I do have some pride remaining."

"Yes, well," Giles shrugged, sighing. He honestly couldn't blame the man for that. They hadn't exactly welcomed him warmly. Of course, the man's own behavior was a good part of the reason none of them had exactly warmed to him.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There had been times when Giles hadn't minded having the younger man around. It was nice to have someone to whom he could say, 'pass me the Siverian translations,' and not then have describe them. Then Wesley would open his mouth; say something superior or condescending and that moment would fly at the window, probably fleeing from the force of Giles' glare.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Giles found himself saying, though he were unsure if he were speaking to Wesley or to his own memories.

"No. It _didn't_ have to be," Wesley was still staring at the marshmallow, which caught on fire as he watched it. The man didn't actually seem to be seeing it, however, as he didn't pull it from the fire. "However, it is that way. I don't . . . I can't show my face again in Sunnydale. I can't do that again."

"Can't do what?" Giles raised an eyebrow, pulling his own marshmallow from the fire and blowing it out, letting it cool for a moment. "It isn't as if we strung you up and tortured you."

Wesley flicked his eyes up at that and the fire in them made Giles want to grin. He kept it to himself, however, knowing Wesley would misinterpret it. Still, he had to admit to himself that he was glad to see something beyond desolation staring back at him.

"You all acted as if I were an interloper," Wesley's voice was a whisper, but only because he seemed to be forcing it to a low register. Trying to keep himself from shouting. Holding back. "You all despised me and they never let me forget it."

"You were an interloper," Giles said calmly, picking the marshmallow from his stick, seemingly concentrating more on that than Wesley. He was watching the man, though, pushing because he wanted to see what would happen. Bad habit, that, one he'd tried to leave behind on more than one occasion. "You were there to replace me, Wesley. Surely, you and the Council both realized I wasn't going to jump for joy at the prospect."

"I didn't expect you to be there," Wesley countered fiercely, shaking his head. "Your job was over. I expected you to leave your journals and go." Sighing, the man finally pulled his marshmallow, or what was left of it, from the fire.

He stared at it; shoulder's slumping as he pulled another from the bag and tried again.

"I see. I suppose my presence is what you blame for the whole . . ." Giles wasn't quite sure how to sum it all up, it wasn't his experience after all, and so he waved down the road, toward Sunnydale.

"No," Wesley's voice was quiet. Giles looked up to find the man staring intently at his stick, fiddling with the marshmallow's position, his body language now screaming 'nervous' instead of 'angry'.

"Really? I had assumed I was the main 'they' in the part about never letting you forget it."

Wesley looked up at that, though his eyes only met Giles' for a moment before skittering away. "Uh, n-no. I meant . . . the children. I . . . I don't actually blame any of you. I . . . I know I was, well, I certainly didn't handle things they way I . . . should have."

"How should you have?" Giles asked, prodding again, though he told himself he was only curious. In truth, he knew he was pushing at Wesley's boundaries, trying to find out what was beneath the exterior. At one time, he'd have said there was nothing there, that Wesley was empty, hollow. He'd have assumed all of that, but now he thought he might have glimpsed something underneath it all.

"You're asking me to innumerate my mistakes?" Wesley snorted, glaring at him. "I suppose next you'll expect me to do penance? Please. I am not about to make you my confessor, as it were."

That said, Wesley ducked his head again, realizing he'd burnt another marshmallow and sighing grandly.

"I'm sorry," Giles said with a shrug. "You said you hadn't handled the things the way you should have and I'd assumed you had some idea of what you might have done differently. I understand if you don't know." That was another prod, a jab to see if Wesley would respond with anger, derision, or the strange apathy he'd been exhibiting for a while. Giles actually worried about that apathy. It could get one killed.

Wesley rolled his eyes, giving Giles a look that said things he was fairly certain would never pass Wesley's lips. Especially in polite company. "I do know what I did wrong. I also know that it was not entirely my fault, though mostly . . . it doesn't matter now. It's over and done."

"Really? Because I don't think it is. You're acting liked a whipped dog. Running away because things got too tough. Is that who you are, Wesley?" That did it. Giles was actually a bit surprised by Wesley's speed. The man was on his side of the fire in just a moment, his hands curled in Giles' shirt.

Flicking his eyes down to the man's grip, he knew he could break it if he needed to, though it was instinct that made him assess and not any real sense that he was in danger. He held still, looking Wesley in the eyes and glad to see that fire burning in there again.

"How dare you." Wesley's voice was harsh, but Giles thought it might well be from something besides, or rather beyond, anger. "You don't know me. None of you does. None of you took the time. Do you really think that spending a few hours pretending not to despise me, just long enough to get me out of town, tells you anything about me? I never pegged you for a fool."

Giles snorted, shaking his head. "Oh? Then why did you never try to prove our assumptions wrong? Dragged in front of Balthazar you acted the coward and that wasn't the only time." Giles wasn't sure he should keep pushing, but he'd be damned if there weren't something underneath that suited exterior, and frankly, he rather enjoyed seeing Wesley lose all that tightly wound control.

"I am _not_ a coward." Wesley's voice was hard now, but Giles didn't know if the man was speaking to him or to himself.

"Oh? You never proved it," Giles pushed, opening his mouth for one last jibe that never made its way past his lips.

The kiss took him completely by surprise. Suddenly, Wesley's mouth was on his, hot and wild, almost desperate. The man's tongue swept over his lips, into his mouth, Wesley's hands no longer holding him, but laying against his chest.

Giles blinked, taking a moment to process exactly what was happening before his hands moved to the small of Wesley's back, pulling the man closer. He took control of the kiss, calming it with slow, exploratory licks and nibbles.

Wesley moaned and Giles felt himself harden; the attraction not unexpected and still stronger than he'd thought. He tugged at Wesley's shirt, pulling it from the waistband of the man's trousers. Sliding his fingers under it, the feel of warm skin under his fingers drew a groan. Wesley's hands were moving over his chest, rubbing over his nipples through the fabric of his shirt.

Panting, he drew away from the kiss, Wesley following him for a moment. The man's eyes snapped open, wild, panicked. They stared at one another, both gone still, both breathing hard. Giles knew he had to move quickly to soothe that panic, but he drew a blank as to how.

Wesley opened his mouth to speak and Giles leaned in, nipping gently at the other man's lips. Wesley gasped and Giles pulled away, working hard to restrain a grin. This was something he'd never guessed might lay under Wesley's exterior, passion. Though, perhaps he should have seen it, should have known.

"I-I, uh . . ." Giles could see Wesley's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, apparently unable to gather words. "I probably shouldn't have done that," Wesley finally said, though he didn't draw away.

"But you did," Giles let a bit of his smile show then, fingers still digging in to the small of the other man's back. Wesley's hands still lay on his chest and neither of them seemed particularly inclined to move. "It took guts," Giles added.

"Or, perhaps, a moment of insanity," Wesley countered, his eyes flicking down to his hands.

"Whichever," Giles said with a shrug, leaning into Wesley's touch.

"You were taunting me on purpose," the man whispered, watching his fingers as he moved them down, rubbing over Giles' nipples.

Moaning softly, Giles nodded. "I didn't expect this result, but yes."

"Why?"

It was hard to concentrate on the man's question, especially with Wesley's fingers plucking at his hardened nipples.

"Uh, well . . . I was curious. Wanted to see what was under that hopelessness." Giles let his hands drift down over the man's arse, kneading.

"And what you found?" Wesley met his gaze then, though his eyes paused on Giles' lips.

"Is a hell of a lot better than what I thought I'd find." Giles snorted softly, leaning in for another kiss. Wesley responded eagerly, lips parting beneath his tongue, their body's pressed tight enough that Giles could tell he wasn't the only one quite excited by this new . . . thing between them.

Wesley pulled away, breathing heavily, licking his lips in a way that had Giles restraining a groan. "We, uh, shouldn't-shouldn't be doing this--"

"Why?" Giles asked, interrupting. If he could help it, he wasn't going to let this slip away. It had been far too long and he was honest enough with himself to admit that he really wanted this, wanted Wesley. "It isn't as if we're colleagues anymore. Neither of us works for the Council. Why shouldn't we--"

"Er," Wesley smiled, ducking his head and apparently pressing his lips together to keep from laughing. "I was going to say we shouldn't do this on the side of the road with only a small fire as protection. We do want someone to actually stop and give us a lift."

Giles opened his mouth, but, unfortunately, had to concede the point. His eyes darted to the Citreon, but then he sighed and forced himself to let go of the other man. There wasn't room in his car and, really, that held the same dangers.

"Unfortunately," Giles moved a bit a way from Wesley, settling back onto his jacket. "You're right." Damn. Giles cursed his timing. If he'd realized the attraction earlier, they might have had a chance to enjoy it. Now, with Wesley set on leaving . . . damn.

Wesley was still kneeling just a little bit away, studying him with some question in his eyes. Giles met and held the man's gaze, waiting for him to speak.

"Well," Wesley licked his lips and Giles' eyes followed the simple action. "I . . . I'll have to go back to Sunnydale . . . uh, I doubt anyone would be willing to take us in two separate directions and . . ."

Giles felt his lips quirk up at that. "So . . . how long will you be staying?" As he asked, Giles reached out to pick up their sticks, handing one back to Wesley, who moved to sit more comfortably next to him.

There was quiet as they both shoved marshmallows into the fire, watching them instead of one another.

"That depends, I suppose," Wesley eventually said.

"On?"

"Let's not worry about that right now?"

"That's fine." After a moment, Giles turned, meeting the other man's eyes which were already trained on him. "Wesley?"

"Yes?" The man ducked his head, a bit sheepish at being caught staring, apparently.

"You're going to burn your marshmallow."


End file.
